


Dandelion Wine

by yolkipalki



Series: Dandelion Wine [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Admissions, Anger, Angst, Blood and Injury, Forgiveness, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Prison, Redemption, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Temporary Character Death, Whump, post torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkipalki/pseuds/yolkipalki
Summary: “P-please don’t... I don’t w-want to...t-be alone...” The voice was hoarse from screaming. It slurred, as though dirty fingers had smeared through his voice like a hand through fresh oil paint. Before he could finish, she spun around and thrust her foot out, she nearly missed the mark, extending her leg with more force than she would’ve liked and barely shoving his shoulder. But it was enough to roll him from where he lay, flat on the stones, to an even more awkward position.“If I’m lucky they’ll-” As Yennefer seethed, he lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart plummeted into her stomach. The world was spinning and she thought she was going to be sick. “Jaskier.”inspired by Dandelion Wine by Gregory Alan Isakov.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dandelion Wine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015449
Comments: 35
Kudos: 283





	Dandelion Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jadelyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadelyn/gifts).



> AN: Not really a writer at all, so apologies but I could not get the idea out of my head. The concept came to me when listening to Dandelion Wine by Gregory Alan Isakov. No it is not meant to be a romance between Yennefer and Jaskier. I don’t know what else to say. 
> 
> Thanks to all the lovely people who have been so kind to me and encouraged me to share what I create.

**DANDELION WINE**

* * *

by Lemon (honey lemon trashcat)

* * *

Yennefer hadn’t remembered falling asleep, curled against frozen stone, her head resting on her knees. It was an awkward position but it was surprisingly comfortable....though she’d be the first to admit her definition of comfort had changed drastically since her capture. How long had it been?

Weeks?

Possibly months, even?

All she could think about was the fact that for once it was relatively quiet. The blood-curdling screams, the begging, the wailing had, for the time being, ceased. It had started days ago, maybe longer, the muffled torturings of the man drifted through the drafty, damp air and resonated in the back of her skull.

_The poor bloke’s probably dead._

_Lucky him._

“-mate.” The deep voice growled from the outside the cell, he spat upon the ground. “It’s like fuckin’ a corpse, I tell ya. Never again.” 

Raucous laughter boomed and bounced off the stone, shattering what fragile semblance of peace she had so delicately managed to weave. Her door flung open and someone was tossed inside. 

The man dropped like a corpse, his face colliding mercilessly with the floor, splitting open at the crest of his cheekbone. 

“Here ya go, sweet’art, we fot you mi’ be lonerly, ga’a li’l frend for ya.” His face split into a stupid grin, showing off the rotting teeth and stained tongue. She snarled in return, if she only had the strength she would’ve ripped his tongue from his head and fed it to him. 

Once again the door slammed shut and she heard the sound of footsteps receding down the long halls.

“Well, you have quite the lungs. When you stopped your rather dramatic wails of anguish I was certain they had finally tired of your antics and killed you.” 

Nothing. The smallest thorn of concern pricked at her bones when silence greeted her and she quickly responded by smothering it.

"Unless I’m mistaken you _are_ the screamer, are you not?" 

Whimpering, rasping breaths. He was awake and trying to say something, or just sniveling, she couldn’t be sure. Her last nerve hung from a thread, threatening to snap at the slightest pressure. She let her head fall back and press against the cold stone. From the corner of her eye, she could see him, just as he was when they had tossed him inside. He was nearly naked, his trousers tangled about his calves.

_Pathetic_. Laying there, refusing to at least crawl to the pile of moldy hay in the corner.

“Get up.” She sneered, not bothering to resist the urge to roll her eyes. He wouldn’t have been able to see anyways but it still felt good. “I get it. You’re cold, you’re tired, you’re hungry. Were you expecting _Toussaint_?”

He didn’t respond, his breath fragile as it fractured like ice crawling over frosted glass.

“I’d do us both a favor and put you down like a lame horse but I’m afraid I don’t have the strength myself.” She laughed bitterly.

As was so often the case with Yennefer, her hurt and anger were sorely misdirected. For months her focus had been on Geralt. But he was far away, nothing more than a distant memory. She hated Geralt for things he had had nothing to do with. Hated him for having what she had been denied, and casting it aside. She hated him for saving her when she hadn’t wanted to be saved. She hated that she didn’t really hate him at all. Geralt was gone now, wherever he was she hadn’t seen him in what felt like lifetimes. The man on the floor quickly became the focus of her anger. He had been the one to disrupt her peace, to steal away what little control over the situation she had had. Long since bottled emotions swelled in her chest and threatened to spill over. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest before scrambling to stand.

“P-please don’t... I don’t w-want to...t-be alone...” The voice was hoarse from screaming. It slurred, as though dirty fingers had smeared through his voice like a hand through fresh oil paint. Before he could finish, she spun around and thrust her foot out, she nearly missed the mark, extending her leg with more force than she would’ve liked and barely shoving his shoulder. But it was enough to roll him from where he lay, flat on the stones, to an even more awkward position. 

“If I’m lucky they’ll-” As Yennefer seethed, he lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart plummeted into her stomach. The world was spinning and she thought she was going to be sick. “Jaskier.”

For all the lifetimes she had lived, and all the lifetimes yet to come Yennefer would never forget that moment.

His head was turned towards her, resting on the ground and putting considerable strain on the right side of his neck, his left shoulder shoved against his jaw, a mixture of blood and spit dribbled from his open mouth. He was a mess of emaciated limbs tangled together, held together by the most fragile of skin and cast iron shackles. His legs wound together awkwardly, calves still tangled in his trousers. The thing that lay on the floor before her, shivering and twitching, barely seemed human anymore. In a sickening way, it reminded her of a marionette, dropped carelessly from the hands of its puppeteer. 

She hadn’t meant to lash out at him, truly the man had done nothing but survive whatever horrors Nilfgaard and Fringilla had seen fit to throw at him, which was more than she could say for most. She hadn’t meant to direct all her rage at him and she hadn’t meant to stumble slowly across the floor to him. 

Carefully she turned him onto his back. His sallow face was jarring, it didn’t look like him, not really anyways. Like a perverse caricature or a frozen effigy, his face looked just enough like him to recall the memory of his devilish smile and widen the distance between what had been and what she saw before her. The flesh around his joints, his nose, ears, and lips were swollen, the skin scarlet red, making his pallid skin look paler than parchment. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her, the once piercing blue seemed lightless, like dirty, old glass. 

She could see white marks across the skin of his throat, chest, and arms. Pallid patterns from restraints cut into the raw muscle.

The irons were at the very least excessive, even if he had been unchained, in the state he was in he couldn't have gone far. She doubted he could have gone anywhere at all. 

Fringilla knew that. 

She was more than capable and could easily pick apart his mind and shred through every semblance of thought and memory it contained, it was entirely possible that she already had. She would find nothing that she hadn’t already known. 

So why not let the bard go? Yennefer felt something boil inside of her and she fought to push it back down. 

“Yenn...please...Yenn, tell Geralt I’m...” He took in a fluttering breath, “I’m s-sorry.” He smiled at her, it was barely more than a grimace, the slightest turn of the corner of his lip but she understood it.

_Don’t. Don’t smile at me. Not like that. No. Stop it._

Something sour began to crawl up the back of her throat, her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice sounded far away as she heard herself scream.

By all accounts, last time she checked she hated him. He was nothing more than a nuisance, a thorn in her heel that she could feel poking her and prodding her with every step. But here she was, unraveling like an old tapestry beneath the weight of his suffering. She couldn’t explain it and she couldn’t stop it. “Did you not hear me? What the fuck are you doing here, Jaskier?” She screeched.

“D...did...don’t you know, Yenn? I’m... on _holiday_.” He slurred drunkenly, somewhere under the swollen and split skin of his face, she could see that charming smile, desperately trying to break through like a single blossom bursting through the snow. He was trying not to worry her. He winked but it was lost beneath the swelling of his split cheekbone, his eye barely visible.

Even as he lay on the floor, barely able to move, he was putting on a show. A true performer. She stopped and stared at him for a moment, utter surprise written across her face. She found herself laughing. It was shallow and quickly spoilt into the faintest tears. 

“Only you would be stupid enough to holiday in a Nilfgaardian prison.” She poked as she awkwardly reached out her hand and set it upon his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, as if afraid she would strike him and it twisted deep in her chest. “I won’t...Jaskier I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” She whispered as she lowered herself onto the ground beside him. She moved her hand to rest gently upon the side of his head while the other wrapped around his ribcage, poised to carefully turn him over. As she set her hand above his ear, hot blood gushed through her fingers. 

  
  


It was so much worse than she imagined. He was deeply hypothermic, his fingers curled into the pads of his hands. His fingertips a vivid purple and red, the skin splitting and blistering from exposure. She held his hand delicately, as though it might shatter from her touch alone.

_He'll never play the lute again._

She banished the thought. She didn't have time for weeping and sniveling sentiments. So instead she busied herself, carefully pulling his trousers back about his waist, trying to ignore the sight of the blood that dripped between his legs. She fastened them as best she could where they hung loosely around his gaunt frame. Yennefer lifted him gingerly into her lap to inspect the wound on his scalp. She held him close for a moment, catching her own reflection in the dark pool of blood that his head had left behind. 

“Jaskier...stay awake….wake up…” She patted him gently on the cheek. 

He could hear the echo of her voice and he tried desperately to pull himself back to consciousness but it was like breaking through ice. 

  
  


She lay, her body pressed as close as she dared to be, one hand resting beneath his head, the torn hem of her dress pressed firmly to his temple. With the other hand, her trembling fingers pulled the strands of wet, freezing hair from his eyes and forehead.

She was exhausted and every part of her ached. She mustered what strength she had, resting her head against the cold stone. With every fiber of her being, she tried desperately to channel her energy and pluck the threads of chaos from the air, working them through her touch but whatever enchantment, whatever spell they had in place to dampen it was too strong. She nearly wept. 

Yennefer held herself together, finding strength she didn’t know she still had. She pushed beyond the exhaustion and the pain, not for herself or her own survival, but for him. She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into her lap. She could feel his eyes look through her as they darted around, searching but never finding.

"I...I couldn't let him go, Yenn." He choked, his voice so faint it was almost lost to the mouthful of blood that threatened to spill from his dry, cracked lips. "I couldn't give him...give him what he needed...and ...all it was...all...it was he needed...just...be rid of me." 

“Wh-?” But as the word slipped past her lips she knew exactly who he was speaking of. 

She had always thought Jaskier to be an open book, easily plucking his thoughts from the ether like low hanging fruit from a tree. He was easy, a joke she had made many times before. Foolishly, she had never thought how deep the roots of the tree went. How carefully guarded his truths were. He was more clever than she gave him credit for. 

But now it felt wrong peering through his eyes and into his mind like this. Like reaching inside and pulling out someone’s still-beating heart or plucking the last petal from a rose as it clung to the vine. Such a simple act, it required nearly no effort at all.

She prayed to the gods this would work pouring everything she had into this one small act her eyelashes fluttered as she tried to blink away the tears before they fell. "He’s waiting for you, Jaskier.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“You don’t remember? We’re here now at the coast. Can’t you hear the seabirds cry? God's I love that...” She choked. "I love the salt of the sea."

"Y-Yenn..." He was fragile, and she feared his heart might break him. "Yenn does he…does he...forgive me?" 

"I wouldn’t presume to know that. But if you hurry you can still catch him, he just left I...I think he was headed for the bay.” Her eyelashes fluttered, but it wasn’t enough to catch the tears that dripped into his hair like warm rain.

He nodded dazedly, the muscles in his face growing slack, the tension that held him together, that tethered him to this hell, was slipping. 

After hours of witnessing his agony, she let it. 

She pulled her aching fist from where the knotted piece of linen had been held fast against the split skin and the fracture in his skull.

“Geralt…” He mumbled. “Geralt, I’m...I’m so sorry.” He choked his chest heaving. 

She held his head closer to her chest, feeling the heat soak the bodice of her dress. His face turned into her as he sobbed. “Shhh.” Instinctually, she began to rock back and forth tenderly. “No." Never before had she shown such tenderness for another, the tenderness she had never been afforded. But it felt right, natural, like slipping into your own bed after traveling for many days. She held him gently and he wept. "You needn't be forgiven dear, you did nothing wrong." 

"The beach is empty, just...just you and Geralt." She laughed under her breath. "Geralt looks so odd without his armor. He's clean and well-fed...he almost looks like a different person, like some sort of somber baron. He...gods, he's so handsome, isn't he?" 

She could feel the muscles of his face twitch as he tried to smile. 

"You turn around the cliffside and into the cove. A simple woolen blanket sits on the beach, weighed down on the corners by rocks. It sits empty save for a bottle of dandelion wine. You open your mouth to apologize. You didn't bring anything, you didn't know, you don't even have your lute but...but he doesn't let you finish. He knows what you're going to say and before he loses his courage...he wraps his hand around your cheek, and god it's so warm, it feels sunkissed..." Her composure wavered as she peered into his mind, into his broken heart. "He kisses you so gently you fear for a moment it was nothing more than his breath across your skin. Until he pulls you in and kisses you again, this time deeper and...and longer." Her voice barely held out, the whisper breaking as she clung to him.

He began to cough and she could feel his lungs rattling, vibrating against her, the blood from his head soaking her chest. He couldn't seem to stop, couldn't catch his breath.

Blood specked her chest and arm as his thick, wet cough hung in his throat, threatening to suffocate him. 

She didn't have much time.

"He pulls back but he doesn’t let you go." A frantic thread wound tightly around her gentle words as she held his shaking body tight. "He...he pulls back and awkwardly, as only he could do, he passes you the bottle. And he takes you by the hand...and he holds you." 

His tremors became violent and her tired arms struggled to hold him still. She clung to him for dear life, her cheek smashed into his bloody hair. 

“I love you, he says, and I’m sorry.” She didn’t try to stop herself anymore as she unraveled, the dry strands of her heart wrung out, snapping like strings. His hand clumsily reached up and his cold fingers danced across her skin.

“Geralt...I -”

  
  



End file.
